Those Dancing Days Are Gone
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Lyrics adapted from "Those Dancing Days Are Gone" by William Butler Yeats.

Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
All that silk and satin gear;
Crouch upon a stone,
Wrapping that foul body up
In as foul, foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

Curse as you may I sing it through;
What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you,
The children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top
Under a mar- marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.

I thought it out this very day.
Noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretence away
Lean upon a stick,
May sing, and sing until he drop,
May sing, and sing until he drop,
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.